


I had a thought, dear...

by clayandgraniteplanet



Category: WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Emotions, Existential Crisis, F/M, Gratuitous metaphors, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Hurt/Comfort, Incredibly Self-Indulgent, Late night thoughts, POV Vision (Marvel), Poor Vision (Marvel), Post-episode 1, Protective Vision (Marvel), Romantic Fluff, Song: Like Real People Do (Hozier), Vision Feels (Marvel), Vision Needs A Hug, Vision-centric, Westview Vision, does this have a plot? yes, is it more of a stream of consciousness than a narrative? absolutely, vision loves his wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29907285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayandgraniteplanet/pseuds/clayandgraniteplanet
Summary: I also do not know what “myself” entails... so, I suppose I cannot know if I’ve lost it. You would tell me, wouldn’t you, darling?Vision has a late-night crisis, and worry for his wife is beginning to eat away at him.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	I had a thought, dear...

Every night, while the people of Westview sleep, Vision ponders his existence. As he pulled back the covers and slipped into bed beside his sleeping wife, he allowed his more rigorous processors to lie dormant. He relaxed into the mattress and just _thought_. Alone, with no eerily-timed hijinks to interrupt the growing sense of dread that has been shadowing him, Vision attempts to take it all apart, figure out this puzzle that seems to revolve around Wanda. 

The problem is, he has nothing to go off of, no data from before they moved into this house. Sure, he knows Wanda, almost knows her better than he knows himself. A large fraction of what is stored in his head is all Wanda; he can remember every last, little detail about the woman he loves. He knows exactly how her mouth twitches when he tells her one of his jokes.

_“I must be growing weak from married life, Vis, you actually got a laugh out of me this time.” She shoots him a look, a look he does not have a name for, but his chest pulls when he registers the mischievous twinkle in her eyes and the unbridled contentment rolling off of her in waves. They batter him relentlessly and he thinks he may be drowning._

He has the feeling of her cheek against his palm down pat. 

_“Welcome home, darling. Or should I call you Mr. Big Shot? You must tell me all about your first day as the department manager.” He leans down to kiss her “hello,” watches her eyes gently close as his fingers brush her temple. They migrate to tangle in her curls. All he can feel is her._

Ask him for any of her more mundane preferences, like how she likes her tea or what her favourite pair of socks are, and he’s ace. But all of this data in his system has no beginning. He only _thinks_ he knows every last, little detail about his wife, but he cannot be certain. And he can sometimes feel himself unconsciously step around the rather large gaps in his memory. 

His best theory is that he may be suffering from retrograde amnesia. (At least there is a perk to being something close to a walking encyclopedia. At least he can placate himself with this hypothesis.) Yet... Wanda would have told him that, right? If he had suffered an incident and lost all prior memories of their life together? Lost the memory of their first encounter, their first kiss, the wedding that he longs to look back on.

They hadn’t even had rings.

_Wanda, dearest, there was a wedding... right? I want a redo. I want to tell you my vows again, I want to remember wholly my devotion to you._

_And yours to me._

Surely, _surely_ she would not hold such a large secret from him. Every part of him knows that Wanda is nothing less than his soulmate, nor he hers. And Wanda is not cruel.

Besides, if he had fallen victim to such a serious medical condition, he was confident in his ability to uncover signs of the ordeal. But there was nothing, not in his head, not in this house, not even a trace of the thought in Wanda’s mind as their consciousnesses constantly brushed together. So no, not amnesia. If not amnesia, then what? _What was he?_ Where did his thoughts come from, where did _he_ come from?

_Wanda, darling, I too often enter a room to find you looking like someone has died._

He pondered if he had ever pondered his existence before. He reasoned that he had, surely, because it was just the type of person, _synthezoid_ , he was. Of course, he had no memory of ever doing so. There was an urge to express his frustration violently, ideally hitting a thick wall with his head. It went ignored.

Answers could be found in the person sleeping next to him, Vision was sure. If he had bones, he would say he could feel that in them.

His eyes had not left her face since he entered the bedroom. It was comfortable, for both of them, for Vision to watch Wanda at night. He found it peaceful, familiar. Looking at her was the best sight he could imagine, the most beautiful view in the universe. And she never told him, in any certain words, that she didn’t mind his nighttime study -- he just knew. She accepted it happily, like she accepted him. This was just another Wanda-ism on the list, already ingrained in his habits.

He wondered if his staggering love for her had always been there, like he felt it was. Or if it was perhaps something placed there. Something inorganic.

_What was Wanda hiding?_

_What had she done..._

_How am I here?_

_You get a look in your eye, sometimes, Wanda, and it scares me. You look so, so sad, and I would give you anything in the world, just to make it better._

Oddly, their devastating love for each other does not concern him, not as much as it should. If he did not have Wanda, he is not sure how he would even exist -- he seems to have been built up from nothingness around her, surrounded by her. They are so deeply intertwined that Vision was not sure what would happen if one of them was removed from the other. He never wants to find out.

_Wanda, tell me a secret. Tell me a story. Tell me anything at all to make me feel better about all this, because right now, nothing feels real._

Perhaps it would be best for him to stop. To stop thinking so hard about all of this. It would be far too easy for him to tether himself to Wanda’s sleeping mind and float away in blissful dreams until the sun rises. And Vision craves ease, he craves an end to this awful cycle he runs nightly. Mostly, he craves her, and her infectious contentedness.

_Wanda, my love, I am afraid. No, not of you... I am afraid of losing myself to you, to us, to the waves that are constantly trying pull me under their surface._

_I also do not know what “myself” entails... so, I suppose I cannot know if I’ve lost it. You would tell me, wouldn’t you, darling?_

There is an emptiness in Vision’s stomach, his metaphorical stomach. It’s the sort of emptiness one feels when they’ve been trapped, cornered. And this, this feeling gives Vision pause. Because he’s not trapped, he lives a wonderful and happy life with his favorite person on the planet. Logically, he should not be feeling such despair, yet the hopelessness bubbling up from god-knows-where is now up to his neck and he finds it hard to breathe. Metaphorically breathe. Metaphorically, he is choking.

Vision’s head snaps to the other side of the room, neglecting to watch Wanda’s face any longer, and he leaves their bed as quickly as possible. He ends up phasing himself to the living room a floor below, both for speed and to ensure that his travel wouldn’t wake her. That’s another habit of his, to be forever considerate of her needs. Right now, it’s pointless, he doubts he could rouse her if he tried.

She sleeps so hard. This world is shifting constantly, but mostly while she sleeps.

Concern is eating him alive, corrupting his ability to reason logically with himself. What is happening to Wanda is taking such a toll on her, exhaustion and grief is buried deep under the surface of her psyche, but not deep enough to escape him. She is the happiest he thinks he has ever seen her, but at what cost? Vision is concerned for himself as well, not for his well-being _(Wanda would never hurt him)_ but for his inability to find a solution to this problem. 

Sitting on their loveseat, he calms himself. He thinks the decor has already evolved slightly, changing around him as he sat here in thought. 

_“Gosh, you sure are dense, aren’t ya, Vis?” She tosses him a joyous grin like it costs her nothing, and as he shoots one back in reply his cheeks twitch and pull at the effort. She continues her explanation on the function of their new electric toaster, leaning into him as she reads the instruction manual. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer, turning his head and planting a kiss onto her hair. He thinks he might be crying, but before he knows it his eyes are dry again as she reaches up to straighten his tie and ruffle his hair._

The sun is beginning to rise, and it looks like it’s going to be another gorgeous, perfect day.

Vision does not know what to do. He has a brain that computes information faster and more thoroughly than any computer man has ever created, and it stutters to an earth-shattering halt. He has no solution to the Wanda Problem. If something is manipulating her, god forbid, keeping her locked away in this prison of marital bliss, he can do nothing to get her out. A selfish part of his heart knows that he does not want to escape either, wants to grow old in this house with her.

The only thing he can do, Vision realizes, is allow himself to be happy with her. For the time being, he must accept his role as adoring husband and simply wait. He will wait for something to go wrong, be the ever-vigilant partner he knows she needs right now. 

_Adoring husband is the only thing he has ever wanted to be, and now he is living the perfect life with his adoring wife. If this is punishment, if this is his prison, he would happily be locked away here for the rest of his life._

It might be his worst fear, losing himself in this world, drowning in paradise as something chips away at the one he loves most. But this is also his greatest temptation. 

He is afraid to lose himself, yes, but as he has already established, he has no way of knowing when, or if, that would happen. He trusts Wanda fully, _has_ to trust Wanda fully, and for all the torment he has faced over this, it is the easiest decision for him to make thus far.

He is going to have to allow himself to make the risky choice, the easy choice. He knows it is not the coward’s choice, but still he worries he is being selfish, condemning them both.

As the colorless sunrise creeps into the sleepy town, Vision phases himself back up into their bed. Wanda has not moved, save for a furrow in her brow and a sheen of cold sweat on her forehead that were not there when he had left. He wraps his arms around her and presses his lips to her hairline and she relaxes, minutely, still lost in sleep.

He steels himself, and allows for himself to be swept away, pulled under, wrapped up in what this world wants him to be. He allows the rising tide to take him willingly out to sea. He hates himself for it, as he basks in what he can only describe as _Wanda_. The strength of her happiness nearly makes him short-circuit. He had felt selfish at first, but how could allowing themselves to be happy ever be wrong? 

Was he afraid, still? Yes, very much so, more than he could ever remember being.

Was it the wrong choice, to allow himself to be buried by her love? No. No, her love could never be wrong, he trusted her with every fibre of his being. He belonged here, as close to her as possible.

And they were stronger like this, together. Vision could lie in wait, unquestioning of the shadows that creep towards them, collecting data for when something inevitably spells disaster. And when Wanda needed him, she could dig him up, pull him from the mind-numbing influence of her sheer bliss. Vision would be ready.

He would always be ready for her. Just another one of his habits, he supposes.

Wanda stirs, finally, looking at him with a sleepy smile. It doesn’t pain him to smile back, not anymore. They both lean in for a kiss, and he feels her softly sigh against his lips. He keeps his eyes open, watches her eyelids fluttering shut and how their corners crinkle when she breathes a laugh and pulls away.

“Darling, if I may ask, what do you find so funny?” He feels impossibly light-hearted, and watches as she sits against the headboard and stretches.

“Sorry, Vis,” she groans, joints cracking from a motionless night of sleep. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise. Something just felt so right, when we kissed, I couldn’t help myself.”

She slumps back down, halfway reclining, and looks at him like he hung the moon.

“Perhaps we should see if we can replicate that sensation,” Vision proposed with a sweetly crooked smile.

“That would be the responsible thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Wanda smirked, placing the hand that was not holding her up behind his head. Her fingers traced the patterns on his neck.

“Yes, we would be doing our part for science. I am sure I could write something up on the phenomenon, should we be successful...”

His words trail off as she looks into his eyes and her playful smirk softens into something more careful. She was unfailingly gentle with him, and Vision wonders if she has the same list of habits that revolve around him as he does for her.

As they kiss, the shadows that plagued Visions thoughts all night scurried away, hid in his joints, his nooks and crannies, awaiting tomorrow night. 

He has no way of knowing if the choice he made, the choice to abandon what he could of himself to the whims of this world, would prevent the fears from returning. If they did come back, he does not know what he might do. He was a different person at night, while Wanda slept. 

However, he also thought he was a different person now, a version of himself he hadn’t been the night before. He was now being wrapped in creeping tendrils that felt like her, an embrace that strengthened him as much as it relaxed him. He was stronger, he could fight back, when it became necessary.

All he can do is accept the love she gives and hope he can match it, give her everything she deserves in return. They kiss, and he accepts her without question, accepts himself without question. Vision is surrounded by pleasure, buried in his own personal heaven, and he waits.

He waits for Wanda to dig him up again.

**Author's Note:**

> after the show ended, I had such a strong urge to write some fic to get my feelings out. I imagine this is set post episode one, but maybe post episode two could work as well. I suggest listening to the Hozier song in the tags, this was wholly inspired by it. If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading through not only my gratuitous metaphors but also my notes, I really appreciate it!
> 
> comments are encouraged, if that's your thing, we can talk about the show and its heartbreaking finale
> 
> (I've already edited the description like five different times, sorry if this confuses anyone. I'm just indecisive :p )


End file.
